


Light Chasers

by obstinateRixatrix



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, P4 shadows for P5 cast, Shadows (Persona Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 20:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinateRixatrix/pseuds/obstinateRixatrix
Summary: Instead of persona awakenings, shadow confrontations for the P5 crew.





	1. Captain Kidd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I super love the awakenings in p5 but I've always loved p4 shadows so here we go
> 
> the title is from a book I haven't read, dark side of the light chasers by debbie ford. cool title, right? but I'm not shameless enough to steal a whole book title for fanfiction 
> 
> thanks to liz & air for the once-over!
> 
> EDIT: [art!](https://twitter.com/KittanZero/status/1111428746748129280)

So, things are getting weird.

Like, it’s _been_ pretty weird, considering Ryuji’s running around with the transfer student and a talking cat in a not-dream world so they can figure out who’s getting abused by the bastard who broke his leg (and who’s wearing a speedo of all things, gross) (and who also _literally_ tried to straight up _murder_ him). But now it’s _really_ weird because he’s looking at. Himself.  
  
On the bright side, Ryuji’s not in a speedo. Neither of them are. Neither of him are? It’s confusing. What he’s wearing— the other him— is Shujin’s gym uniform, which shouldn’t be that jarring, it’s just the gym uniform, he’s worn it plenty of times since the track team got shut down, but for some reason, there’s some kind of... impact.  
  
What’s even more off-putting are his eyes. They’re a gut-wrenching yellow— same as that other Kamoshida, that can’t be good— and there’s something about them, something harsh and unkind in a way that makes Ryuji feel sort of sick; on instinct, he moves in front of the transfer student to... protect him?  
  
(Or maybe to keep him from seeing that expression.)  
  
“Hey,” Ryuji manages to choke out, because so far the weird cat’s been the one with all the answers. “This is one of those cognition things you were talking about, right? He’s not real, right?” And maybe it comes out a little desperate, but he’s kind of freaking out!  
  
“It’s... this isn’t supposed to happen,” the cat says, which isn’t reassuring. “I mean, since real people aren’t supposed be in palaces, maybe— but frizzy hair already has—? It’s not...”  
  
“Not _what?_ What’s going on!? What _is_ that thing!?”  
  
“Will you shut up already?” the other him snaps. “I’m you, you’re me, mystery solved. Let’s get on with what you’re really here for.”  
  
“What are you talking about!?”  
  
“Revenge.”  
  
Something in Ryuji goes cold at hearing his own voice sound so vicious. And he can’t deny that, yeah, revenge sounds pretty appealing, but the way he— the other him— says it raises all kinds of red flags. “Stop,” he tries, but he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to stop.  
  
“This is supposed to be Kamoshida’s brain or whatever, right?” There’s a dangerous glint in those eyes as the other him stares at the ridiculous statues lining the room they’re in, at the disgustingly ornate portraits adorning the walls. “That means something’s gotta happen if you let loose and wreck the place.”  
  
The thought of it sparks some kind of excitement, which— which isn’t something he should be excited about. “That’s not what I’m here for—“  
  
“Yes it is!” The other him hauls Ryuji up by the collar with some kind of wild, untethered rage, he’s too close, it’s too much. “That’s how the world works! An eye for an eye! The only way to survive is to break them before they break you! Hit them hard enough and they can’t hit back!”  
  
“Shut up!” Ryuji yells, shoving the other him away.  
  
“How long are you going to lie to yourself! This is the only thing you know! This is you! _I’m_ you!”  
  
“You’re not!” Ryuji doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t want the transfer student to hear this, he doesn’t want the weird cat to hear this, it’s all anyone’s ever thought of him and he can’t prove them right— “You’re not me!”  
  
And finally, _finally_ , the other him shuts up. For one delusional second Ryuji thinks, hey, maybe this is exactly what he’s supposed to do, problem solved. Then there’s some kind of force that pushes everyone back as the other him… changes into… a zombie…?

It definitely smells like a zombie. Not that Ryuji has any personal experience with what a zombie smells like, but the air’s filled with the stench of saltwater and rotting flesh, and Ryuji feels the sting of bile rising at the back of his throat. The thing that used to be the other him is massive, wrapped in chains and shackles, leaning on a broken wooden beam to counterbalance the stump where his right leg should’ve been, and on impulse Ryuji grips his own to make sure it’s still there.

While Ryuji’s standing there like an idiot the transfer student grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him behind, rushing forward to block the first swing with a— persona? Is what the weird cat called it? The weird cat dives in too, yelling out stuff about what’s going on and what they should do but it’s all kind of getting lost in the chaos of a giant waterlogged corpse wrecking the place. Which summons some guards, but that ends up being a non-issue because those end up getting wrecked along with everything else.

It’s not even focused on attacking anyone, it’s just swinging wildly, and watching that mindless destruction is… familiar. It’s not something he wants to be familiar, but it is, and he can’t stand the epiphany that brings.

More than that, he can’t stand watching other people getting dragged into his mess. Transfer student and weird cat aren’t doing so hot, worn down by the relentless onslaught of attacks, and it looks like the zombie’s gearing up for a devastating blow while the other two are knocked on their asses, so what else can Ryuji do but rush in to block it.

Ryuji’s panting from exertion, keenly feeling the ache shooting up his leg, and just when he thinks he’s going to take a wooden beam to the face, miraculously, it stops just short.

“Enough,” he manages, once he catches his breath. Somewhere in-between, the other him turns back into the other him. “That’s enough. I know what you are. You’re a thug, a delinquent, and a destructive bastard. You’re exactly what people see when they look at me. And maybe they’re right, because... you’re me.”

At that, the other him grins. Or, the edge of his mouth tics upward in a rueful kind of confirmation.  
  
_I am thou, thou art I…_

 

* * *

 

So. Shadows, thieves, treasures. It’s a lot to take in. And maybe they should talk it out somewhere other than a noodle shop, but after everything that’s happened, Ryuji’s starving. So yeah, he’s going to treat himself and the transfer student— Akira— to a bowl of noodles. It’s the least he can do after all that mess. Cats probably can’t eat noodles. He’ll get Morgana something later.

“You alright?”

Ryuji starts. Tries for a smile. Probably misses the mark. “I’m fine. Sorry I dragged that out way longer than I had to.”

“It’s not your fault,” Morgana says. He’s been weirdly nice since they’ve left the castle, way less shrill and bossy than he used to be. Guess he’s not the type to kick a guy when he’s down. “That’s how real shadows are supposed to work. They distort the part of ourselves we repress because they want to be rejected, but they only exist because they need to be acknowledged.”

“Yeah, but still… I already knew everyone saw me as a no-good thug, it shouldn’t have been that hard admitting they were right.”

“They’re not.”

It’s still kind of surprising whenever Akira offers up anything; dude’s so quiet, it’s easy to forget he’s even there.  
  
At Ryuji’s questioning look, he shrugs. “It makes sense to get mad when people give you shit. So get mad.”

It’s probably the most he’s said at one time, and Ryuji lets out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Akira asks.  
  
“I dunno, it’s just unexpected. Swearing doesn’t really fit your image.”  
  
“Shit. Ass. Fu—”  
  
“Come on dude,” Ryuji interrupts. “There’s kids around.”

Akira raises an eyebrow, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Yeah, he’s definitely way more of a dick than he looks.

Akira’s a weird guy. A good kind of weird. And the whole situation still kind of sucks, but… even though he’d rather not have anyone seeing his shadow shit, maybe it’s a good thing that Akira, of all people, was the one that saw his shadow shit.

Plus, now Ryuji’s got a persona, and they’ve got a way to take Kamoshida down. And that’s something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> air & sundry actually helped me figure out ryuji's shadow design, based on captain kidd's execution by gibbetting (that's where the wooden beam comes from lol). trust me it's super symbolic. drowned by obligation and the expectations of others. gotta get past the rotting flesh of societal expectations to who you really are underneath all that: a skeleton. 
> 
> anyway: I'm actually also planning a side oneshot about this so like... if you're thinking 'hey we could go a little more into ryuji and his shadow'... We Will 
> 
> really excited to show yall what I have for ann!!!! I love her so much


	2. Carmen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, since Morgana sticks with Ryuji and protag after Ryuji's awakening, explanations happen earlier, so the plan to change Kamoshida's heart happens earlier, so Ann's awakening happens earlier - this takes place after the 4/13 conversation. 4/14-4/15 doesn't go the same way for Shiho because it's my city and I don't want that to happen to her.
> 
> (this also means Ann doesn't have the 4/14 conversation with protag where she actually tells him what's going on but w/e)
> 
> thanks liz and air for the once-over!
> 
> EDIT: [art!](https://twitter.com/KittanZero/status/1109662701398183937)

Waking up isn’t fun. Of course, waking up hasn’t been fun for Ann since... ever, really, but as of late, it’s been especially unfun.  
  
Then again, is she awake? The last thing she remembers is trying to warn Sakamoto and Kurusu about Kamoshida, and getting completely brushed off. She was going to leave them alone because, hey, she tried, that’s more than anyone else would’ve done for them, except they really did look like they were up to something— when did they even have time to get all buddy-buddy?— so she doubled back, and… something must have happened, because she’s coming to conscious with a mouthful of rug. Really fancy rug.

The place she’s in doesn’t feel... real. It looks like a cheap and gaudy set, something for a low-budget photo shoot by a designer with zero style, except weirdly authentic. The stone walls really are made of stone, the marble floors really are made of marble. Poking at a suit of armor reveals it really is a suit of armor, but it can't have been a well-made one because it just falls apart immediately.

Also Kamoshida’s face is everywhere.

It’s terrible.

Ann looks resolutely ahead, doing her best not to see the statues, the paintings, or anything else. As she wanders through the tasteless, tacky, disgustingly decorated halls, she starts to hear someone… crying?

It’s creepy. No, it’s _super_ creepy! If this is a dream, she’d really like to wake up! But even though walking towards the desperate, choked sobs is the _last thing she wants to do,_ it’s almost like she’s being pulled towards the sound.

Eventually, she opens some big important-looking doors and sees… Sakamoto? And Kurusu? And there’s a cat, except, it’s definitely not a cat? They’re all crowded around a figure that's hunched over and crying, and it looks like they’re trying to comfort…

Her?

“I don’t know!” Sakamoto says with helpless panic as Ann’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. “I’ve never seen her like this!”

“There has to be something you can do!” the cat-like creature says and, alright, this _has_ to be a dream. “How can you bear to see such a beautiful lady in distress—”  
  
The other her looks up.

Her eyes are a vivid, striking yellow.

“Oh _shit—_ ” Sakamoto yells as all three of them jump back from the other her. Ann probably should do the same. Instead, she walks forward.

The other her looks like glass. Not literally, the dream hasn’t gotten _that_ weird yet, but she looks like she could shatter at any second, and that… kind of pisses her off. Those yellow eyes are brimming with tears as she sniffs pathetically, and that _really_ pisses her off.  
  
“What are you _doing_ ,” Ann says.  
  
“I can’t do this,” the other her sobs. “I need help, I need someone, anyone—”  
  
“You don’t,” Ann snaps, cutting her off.  
  
“Ann, calm down,” Sakamoto says, and— which one is he talking to? He better not be talking to her, because _she’s_ not the one wailing like a baby. “I know this is weird, but that’s you.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“I need help,” the other her repeats, breath hitching in a pitiful hiccup. “I can’t do this, won’t someone save me? Please, save me!”

Seeing her own crying face is just so _aggravating_. It’s insulting! She’s never been this useless! She’d never let herself be this useless! “Can’t you say anything else!?” she spits, seething. “Get a grip!”

“Stop it! Just stop! What are you even doing?” The other Ann reaches out, clutches at Ann, still sobbing hysterically; her desperation is suffocating. “How can you protect Shiho when you’re the reason any of this is happening in the first place! It’s pointless! You can’t keep her safe, I know you can’t!” She stares up at Ann with those awful yellow eyes. “I know you can’t because I’m you!”

Ann reels backwards but the other her refuses to let go. “How dare you,” she says, feeling way too much. She’s been angry before, she’s been angry a lot, but nothing can compare to how absolutely heartrendingly furious she is right now. How dare she? With that face? With that voice? “You’re not me. You’re _nothing_ like me!”

The other her goes motionless, still clutching at Ann, but there’s this energy as... _something_ happens. The guys (and cat) yank her out of the other Ann’s grasp, who… transforms, is probably the best way to describe it. Where she used to be is something that’s… human-ish, almost, but definitely not. It’s hunched over, still sobbing, but its arms— way more than one body should have— are disjointed appendages floating a hair’s width from its torso, and where the head’s supposed to be is this floating empty ring. There’s a rose impaled right through its chest and rooted to the ground; something red and viscous drips down the thorn-covered stem, down the many hands grasping at it. And now would be a great time to get the hell out of here, but taking even one step towards the door makes it wail, which makes someone either freeze up or freak out, so taking down that monster is the only way to leave.

It’s three against one, with the guys (and cat) calling forth… ghosts? Demons? A skeleton!? Ann doesn’t even know, but whatever they are, they’re barely a match for the massive figure in the center of the room hellbent on wreaking havoc.

“Lady Ann,” the cat cries, “you have to accept her!”  
  
“Accept _what!_ ” Ann dives behind an overturned table, narrowly avoiding a small explosion. “Whatever that thing is, it’s not me!”

“She is!” Sakamoto insists. “Trust me, I know it’s tough, but that’s you!”

“It can’t be me!”  
  
“You’re so stubborn!”  
  
“You don’t understand!” Ann yells. “That _can’t be me!_ I can’t ask for help because there’s no one I can ask!”  
  
At that, Kurusu turns, looking Ann right in the eye. His gaze is sharp, piercing even, as he says, “Ask us!”

And it’s just… such a shock to hear. He makes it sound so simple. Ask them? How? For what? What could they possibly do? What could anyone do?

“Lady Ann, you’re obviously in pain!” the cat says. “We’ll do anything we can to help you!”

“Whatever you need, you can count on us!” Sakamoto adds.

And it’s almost kind of funny. It’s hilarious. Help her? They’re barely holding their own against “her”. None of them even know what’s going on. But here they are, making impossible promises. It’s laughable.

It’s such a _relief_.

Ann grits her teeth. This is ridiculous. She’s gotten this far on her own. She has it under control. Where was help when Kamoshida first leered at her with that vile speculation? Where was help when Shiho collapsed after suffering through brutal and downright sadistic drills, retaliation for something as simple as refusing a ride to school? She can’t rely on anyone. If she could…

If she could…

Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad.

Honestly, what is she doing. It’s time to put an end to this.

Ann marches forward, ignoring the startled warnings from the others. She reaches out to the monstrous her and embraces her other self.

“You’re right,” she admits. “I can’t do this alone.”

Gradually, the other her reverts back to how she looked before.  
  
“I’m so sick of feeling like this. No matter what, we’ll take down that bastard for what he’s doing to everyone,” Ann promises. “To Shiho. To me.”  
  
She pulls away, finally ready to face herself. “You’re me, and I’m you.”

Her counterpart nods, and she doesn’t look so tortured anymore. She looks… relieved. At peace.

 _I am thou, thou art I…_ _  
_

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t actually take too long to explain… everything. How Kamoshida’s been pressuring her. How she’s been doing her best to keep his attention off Shiho while using every excuse to avoid being alone with him, but he’s getting impatient and pushy and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep this up. It’s such a delicate balance; one wrong move could ruin everything.

“I had no idea,” Ryuji says, looking helplessly appalled and outraged. He’s always been so easy to read. “I can’t believe I thought you were on his side.”

“Yeah, well.” Ann feels her mouth twist into a bitter smile. “I had to fool him into thinking that. Makes sense everyone else would, too.”

“Doing this alone must have been tough,” Akira says. And, It was. It really was.

“...Lady Ann!” Morgana exclaims. “Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You’re crying…”

Ann reaches up, and sure enough, there are tears rolling down her cheek. Thankfully it’s not the hysterical sobbing her shadow subjected them all to, but it’s still kind of jarring, and she can’t help but laugh as she scrubs at her eyes. “That’s weird. This is actually the best I’ve felt in a while.”

At that, everyone looks kind of crushed. Definitely not what she intended.

“We can change his heart,” Ryuji says. “We can make him own up to everything he’s done.”

And for the first time, Ann feels like everything might turn out alright.

She’s going to make sure that bastard pays. But before that, she’s going to talk to Shiho; the sooner the better. Obviously she’ll have to leave out parts like personae and palaces, but all she’s ever cared about was protecting Shiho, and it hasn’t been working. It’s not working for Shiho, and it’s not working for Ann. She’s going to figure out what does work. For both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I’ve posted a bit about shadow Ann](http://obstinaterixatrix.tumblr.com/post/182025148364/re-shadow-ann) a while ago while planning for this fic. It’s exciting to finally have this chapter done...! I love Ann
> 
> Was a bit stumped on Shadow Ann’s design but there’s one detail I was super solid on & it was Shadow Ann being impaled by a rose rooted to the ground with blood dripping down the stem because 1) Carmen’s rose motif, 2) blood’s good fertilizer for roses, so if the rose rooting her to the ground represents being trapped by the situation she’s in, the blood from that wound further enabling that rose to flourish illustraits the feedback loop Ann was trapped in. [Thanks nottles for offering the idea of using the hands to grip the stem to try and rip it out](http://obstinaterixatrix.tumblr.com/post/183646174049/i-was-a-bit-stumped-on-shadow-anns-design-but)


	3. Goemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Warned: this chapter touches vaguely adjacent to suicidal ideation
> 
> a pal drew [something inspired by ann's chapter](https://twitter.com/KittanZero/status/1109662701398183937) and [something that inspired yusuke's chapter](https://twitter.com/KittanZero/status/1108390762989961217) after being inspired by me talking about shadow yusuke while inspiring me by also talking about shadow yusuke. art truly is a collaborative endeavor. 
> 
> I was really excited to write this chapter! yusuke's my favorite character and it probably shows! thanks liz for the once over, and thanks pita & leaf sneeze for providing additional feedback as fellow yusuke connoisseurs. yusuke enthusiasts. this is probably the greatest volume of purposeful symbolism I've consciously put into fic.

The last thing Yusuke remembers is trying to follow Takamaki-san’s escape, which somehow led to falling with Takamaki-san despite the purportedly solid ground beneath them, which somehow brought him to… wherever this place is.

It’s quiet. Or rather, there is an oppressive silence that somehow surpasses the absence of sound, which is somewhat… disorienting. The interior is dark, and it takes a while for Yusuke’s eyes to adjust, but soon enough he’s able to take stock of his surroundings.

He’s surrounded by portraits. Huge, sprawling pieces, larger than life, and somehow… there is subtle, ethereal movement within each frame; not an optical illusion, not a digital display, but actual motion upon painted canvas. Hypnotic as it is, it doesn’t distract from the familiar faces affixed with familiar names. These portraits— all of them— are of his former fellow pupils.

With no way to measure time it’s difficult to determine how long Yusuke wanders through the empty gallery, haunted by the hollow eyes of his ex-peers. Is this some purgatory? Is this a form of penance he must pay? Plagued by such thoughts, it’s almost a relief to stumble upon something that seizes his full attention.

The portrait before him is notably smaller than the others—life-sized, rather than the massive pieces around it— and the subject of the portrait bears an unmistakable resemblance to himself. Upon closer inspection it’s undeniable that he is, in fact, the subject of the portrait. His gaze is cast downward, a placid expression, and the background— a full moon overlaid by a delicate branch— marks it as an obvious pastiche, which is… uncomfortable, to say the least; who would presume to cast Yusuke in the place of Sayuri?

A striking difference from Sayuri, however, is the subject’s attire. He wears a belligerently crimson yukata ill-suited to his own complexion, one wrapped right over left. The yukata is sparsely patterned with golden clouds, along with a single crane in flight that— impossibly enough— circles the garment, traversing the fabric in elegant motions. There’s dissonant contrast in such an extravagant design on such cheap material, age already fraying at its edges.

It’s beautiful.

It’s nauseating.

So mesmerized by the sight, it takes some time for Yusuke to realize that the subject of the portrait is now looking directly at him, yellow eyes burning through the darkness. Dread pools to his stomach, but before he can move, the figure in the portrait grips the edge of the frame and _pulls_ himself out.

“You’re here,” the figure says, in his voice, with a disconcertingly gentle tone. “Right where you belong.”

“W-what…?”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” the figure continues. “Being surrounded by those who simply don’t understand. All this crying foul over plagiarism, about abuse… in the end, the pursuit of art will always remain far beyond the artless.” The other him laughs; a light, carefree, jarring sound to hear. “Watching the others fall under such conditions only serves to prove your superiority.”

“What are you implying,” Yusuke demands, but something makes him take an involuntary step backwards. He clenches his jaw, fingers curling into a tight fist to stay his trembling hands; a cowardly impulse towards retreat will not serve him here, he needs _answers!_ Where is he? Who is that other him? What is the purpose of this charade?

Yusuke gets none of these answers. In fact, he only gets more questions as a group of bizarrely costumed individuals burst onto the scene.

“Kitagawa-kun! Thank goodness you’re alright!” the figure in red calls, and she sounds like— Takamaki-san? Which means the other two human-sized individuals must be her friends, though he doesn’t recognize the fourth (extremely short) member of her party.

“What are you wearing?” Yusuke asks. “Rather— what are you doing here? What is this place?”

“We’ll explain later!” the short one says. His tail flicks with obvious agitation, which seems far beyond the capabilities of a simple costume. “For now, we need to get out of here! He’s been in the palace so long— there’s no telling what that might’ve done to his shadow!”

“My shadow…?”

“They’re referring to me, of course,” his doppelgänger— his shadow— clarifies, “though it pains me to be addressed by such lowly miscreants.”

“Are we sure that's a shadow?” the blond one asks. “He’s just saying the same kinda stuff Kitagawa’s been saying the whole time.”

“ _This_ is how you see me?” Yusuke snaps. “You persistently intrude on my personal life, you slander my mentor— haven’t you insulted me enough!? Leave!”

“You see?” his shadow says, the sympathy in his voice utterly grating to hear. “They don’t understand. They _can’t_ understand.” In a grandiose motion he lifts his arms, framing Yusuke with his hands in an all too familiar pose. “There is no great art without great suffering. Ah, sensei truly is a genius!”

“Is that what he’s teaching you!?” the irritating one exclaims, tactless as ever. To make things worse, he turns toward Yusuke with a mixture of affront and unwanted pity.

“You’re misrepresenting the situation! All of you!” Yusuke makes an attempt at even, measured breaths, tries desperately to calm his pounding heart, but to no avail— he staggers, dizzy with his racing thoughts, but manages to continue, “Madarame is a kind man! He’s like a father to me! He took me in, allowed me to flourish as an artist—”

“—and you _are_ flourishing!” his shadow interrupts, his serenity giving way to a borderline fanatical excitement. “The tutelage of a great artist is irreplaceable! What’s wrong with a pupil helping his mentor? Maintaining his reputation is integral to the pursuit of art! Why shouldn’t your work be his to use as he sees fit? What a small price to pay for his expertise!”

“But what about Sayuri?” Takamaki-san counters, though it’s difficult to tell which Yusuke she’s appealing to. “You know there’s something fishy going on— I know you do! Don’t you want the truth?”

And— he does, desperately so, how could he not? Sayuri’s gentle gaze had been the light that drove him forward, the tragedy of her loss an endless source of wistful yearning, but before Yusuke can gather these thoughts, formulate some response, his shadow scoffs.

“Isn’t that a trifling matter?” he asks. “Stop pushing your self-centered righteousness onto others. Whatever explanation sensei offers will be accepted without question.”

“That’s not true—!” To see this parody of himself blatantly disrespect his reverence for Sayuri is sickening enough; having others witness such a humiliating display is too much to bear, and Yusuke falls to his knees, clutching at his head. “Stop this farce!”

”What farce? I speak nothing but the truth.” The other him reaches down with searingly gentle hands, a poisonous caress. “I’m you, after all.”

“Don’t say that,” Yusuke chokes out, fury burning a hole through his chest. “You’re not me— you’re nothing but a shameless imposter!”

The imposter’s beatific expression twists into contempt, and what _gall!_ As if he has the _right_ after such indecency! Yusuke is just about to relay all that indignation and more when a stark white wing bursts from his imposter’s back, soon weighed down by the chaotically marbled ink that oozes from between the feathers. The rest of him shortly follows this startling transformation, culminating into what could perhaps be described as the idea of a crane, far too ill-defined and approximate and _wrong;_ no crane has a beak that curves so viciously, talons that gleam with such cruel intent. To confound the matter further, it’s pieced together by a grotesque cacophony of incongruent styles, impressionist and ink wash limbs attached to a cubist crest, its head styled in a repulsively nostalgic childlike scrawl.

With an almighty screech it dives towards Yusuke, and in a moment of clarity he thinks: ah, this must be his punishment. But then the blond one grabs him, pulls him out of the way. “Look, we’ve all been through this— or, well, I guess half of us have? It’s tough, but you need to accept that part of yourself! Trust me, I know—"

“You _don’t!_ ” Yusuke shouts, pushing him away. Somewhere in the background the monster thrashes chaotically and someone lets out a curse, but it all seems so distant. “You have no idea! All you’ve ever had were your unwelcome assumptions, and now you mean for me to acknowledge that _abomination?_ To claim it as my own? You don’t know anything!”

“You’re right,” says Takamaki-san’s other friend, which is a somewhat stunning response; he’s had such little presence, Yusuke had almost forgotten about him completely. “We don’t know, so tell us!”

“I’ve _told_ you—“

But before Yusuke can repeat what he’s said countless times before, Takamaki-san’s other friend launches upward, intercepting a blow clearly meant for him. Takamaki-san takes the frontlines with her blond companion while the short one in the cat costume weaves in and out of combat. And, should he be grateful when all of this is clearly their fault? Bringing him to this place, showing him that mockery, and for what? So he can parrot exactly what they’ve assumed? Relay only what they want to hear? It’s clear the monstrous entity is after him and him alone— their interference is, as always, wholly unasked for; it would be better for everyone if they just left him alone, better for them, better for him, better for that creature to be let loose and free to deliver due judgment, better to leave him to—

Oh.

The realization spreads like ice through his veins, but it’s... cathartic, in a way. He looks, really looks at his other self, observes its desperate single-minded struggle with an almost detached fascination. Its wing is practically glued to the ground, bent savagely under the weight of endlessly streaming ink; disregarding Takamaki-san and her companions, it surges ever forward, waylaid only by their incessant obstruction.

It’s pitiful.

It wants to kill him.

And, Yusuke laughs.

The fighting stops as abruptly as it began. Everyone stares at him, frozen.

“Dude, are you, like... okay?” the blond one asks.

“I’m miserable,” Yusuke replies, smiling bitterly. “But... I understand now. I can no longer escape the truth.” He lifts his head to look at his shadow, at those piercing, yellow eyes as it glacially collapses back into its original form. “Loathe as I am to admit it, you’re me.”

The other him— his shadow— smiles, but no longer wears that facsimile of serenity. It’s a melancholic look, one that Yusuke can’t help but mirror.

_I am thou, thou art I..._

 

* * *

 

"I suppose you all must feel vindicated,” Yusuke says, as they rest in the museum lobby.

“Uh,” the blond one says, articulate as ever. “What?”

“You were right.” He’s managed to admit it to himself; might as well admit it to the others. “I’ve blinded myself to the truth for so long despite how often I’ve seen it with my own two eyes—”

"It’s not about being right,” the other one interrupts.

Takamaki-san nods in agreement. “You were in a bad situation, Kitagawa-kun.”

“One that I’ve allowed for far too long.”

“Dude, this ain’t something that’s really ‘allowed’...” The blond one rubs at the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically considerate. “ _Madarame’s_ the bastard responsible for what he’s done, full stop. You’re not the one who has to own up for how he’s hurt you. How he’s hurt others.”

And… it’s somewhat of a relief to hear. But absolution isn’t something he’ll allow himself— not yet. He needs to put an end to this. For the sake of those who were robbed of their futures as artists. For the sake of the man who was, in some way, his father.

“Very well,” Yusuke decides. “I shall lend you my power.”

“Huh?” the cat asks. “You just got your persona, do you even know what’s going on?”

“Not really. However, it’s clear that you all intend to do something about… about Madarame, and it’s clear that this world somehow provides the means to do so. And now that I as well have—“ Yusuke glances down, distracted by his unprecedented abundance of sleeves. “When did my clothes change?”

“You’re seriously just noticing that now?” the blond one asks, incredulous. He huffs out a sigh, though he doesn’t actually look annoyed. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you up to speed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could honestly annotate like every other line with thoughts about why I wrote what I did and how I wrote it. some of these lines are lifted from canon (e.g. 'self-centered righteousness'). remember how in december they go into mementos and yusuke's like 'is this hell'. remember how yusuke doesn't call anyone but ann by name until after joining the p thieves. there's definitely similarities in the overt hostility ann & yusuke have towards their own shadows with one fundamental difference. there's a bunch of double meaning with what sayuri means to madarame vs what sayuri means to yusuke. the moments where yusuke laughs in the game's script usually aren't related to enjoyment, yusuke’s laugh after confronting shadow madarame (‘it appears truth is stranger than fiction...’) is So Important To Me and I’m Personally Offended that the anime took it out; one of the first things in my rough draft was 'Yusuke: [dry laugh] I'm Miserable'. at any given second I am exploding with detailed analysis about yusuke


	4. Johanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone's wondering 'oh huh this fic didn't update for four (4) months wonder what happened It Really Just Took Four (4) Months To Write. major thanks to liz who helped with dev edit stuff (and boy it's been a WHILE since I needed those). Go-To Makoto Scholar
> 
> anyway hope folks enjoy!
> 
> edit: [art](https://twitter.com/KittanZero/status/1166178930832883712)

The explanation Makoto gets is… confusing, to say the least. Personae? Palaces? And a cat that can talk? Except, he’s just meowing, so maybe it’s best to ignore that for now.

Disregarding Morgana, the rest of it sounds a little like perspective construct taken to an unbelievable extreme. Then again, something so unbelievable would explain how the Phantom Thieves are able to change hearts. So, it makes sense. It’s nonsense, but it makes sense. And following the logic they’ve presented…

“If you can’t get into the bank because Kaneshiro doesn’t see you as a source of income,” Makoto starts, “wouldn’t I be able to get you all in? At this point, he probably considers me one of his ‘customers’.”

But the others exchange an uneasy look. Then, Takamaki-san clears her throat. “...That’s probably not a good idea.”  And the hesitation in her voice, it stings. Just a little.

“I know it must be hard to trust me after everything I’ve done,” and everything she’s failed to do, “but I—”

“No, no, it’s not about— listen, I know you’re on our side now,” Takamaki-san clarifies, which is a relief, “but it’s dangerous without a persona, and to get a persona…”

The cat starts to meow at length. The others nod with solemn gravity.

“When you go into the metaverse, your cognitive counterpart is replaced by your shadow,” Kurusu-kun... translates, probably? It’s the most Makoto’s ever heard him say, even if it’s another person’s (cat’s?) words. “You’ll have to accept your shadow to get your persona. It’s not fun.”

“Understatement of the century, dude,” Sakamoto-kun interjects. “They don’t necessarily want to hurt you... well, some of them do. It kinda depends? They drag out the stuff you don’t want anyone to know about and when you say you’re not them, they go nuts and start wreckin’ shit.”

“A shadow presents your suppressed self in the most unpalatable way possible,” Kitagawa-kun clarifies, which is a little easier to follow than Sakamoto-kun’s explanation. “If you are unable to accept your other self, your shadow takes on a monstrous and violent form.”

“But by the sounds of it, having another persona user would be a huge asset,” Makoto argues. “And I also have the advantage of knowing what’s to come. We can at least try, can’t we? If it gets too dangerous we can retreat, but it would be much easier to tackle Kaneshiro’s bank with me there, especially if I have a persona.”

Ryuji heaves out a sigh. “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you.”

“I’m really not,” Makoto says. Besides, she can probably guess what her shadow self would target.

 

* * *

 

 Her shadow self has yellow eyes and a pleasant smile that doesn't suit her face. It’s a little too bright, a little too saccharine to be anything but insincere. Which is surreal to see on an otherwise near-identical copy of herself— down to the school uniform she wears— but then again, everything about the situation is surreal.

“This isn’t you,” her shadow self says. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Alright,” Makoto says, because… what else can she say? As far as she can tell it’s not a matter of shouting the magic words and instantly reaping the rewards of self-acceptance. So she probably has to let the shadow dig everything up, in front of other people, before she can accept herself. Which, in hindsight, maybe she should’ve thought this through more. But it seems like she’s on the right track, because Takamaki-san and Sakamoto-kun shoot her a not-so-discreet thumbs up.

“Just back away from this,” her shadow warns.

“I can’t do that.”

“You can. You should! All this? It’s not your responsibility.” She shakes her head in what looks like a practiced motion. A gesture, almost mechanical, the theory of communication rather than the practice of it. “Can you imagine what this could do to your future? College applications are right around the corner.”

College applications? Really? They’re in the mental landscape of a criminal who’s probably extorting and blackmailing half the city, _i_ _ncluding her,_ and her shadow brings up _college applications?_ “That’s not what’s important,” Makoto says, feeling slightly ridiculous.

“Of course it is.” Her shadow’s bright yellow eyes are full of condescension. Makoto clenches her fists, digs her fingernails into the palm of her hand. “You’re doing this for what, a handful of troublemakers? Who were out in the city, at night, taking shady jobs from shady people? What did they _think_ would happen?”

And with a guilty jolt, Makoto recognizes those thoughts. It’s all… uncomfortably familiar, but that’s what she was supposed to prepare for, isn’t it.

“Deep breaths, Niijima-san,” Kitagawa-kun urges. “We understand that this isn’t indicative of your character.” It’s hard to say whether or not it’s helpful, but it’s a little grounding.

“What matters is keeping them safe,” she says, keeping her voice steady.

“Why?”  
  
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do? It’s just delaying the inevitable,” her shadow argues. This is going nowhere. Are they just going to be talking in circles forever? “Everyone has their place in the world. They’ve got theirs, and you? You’re all set to be another cog in a well-oiled machine.” Then, she leans in to whisper, as if delivering a secret. “Just like your sister.”

“Why would you—” Makoto stops. Takes a deep breath. This is what shadows do. This is what she was supposed to expect. Distantly, she can hear someone— Sakamoto-kun— ask what was said before getting silenced. “She’s got nothing to do with this,” she tries, her protest sounding weak even to her.

“She doesn’t?” her shadow asks, the facsimile of surprise plastered on her face. “Now, we both know that’s not true. Try and remember, won’t you? Remember how she used to be.”

“Should we retreat?” Kitagawa-kun asks, but Makoto’s rooted to the ground, and it feels like, maybe, she can’t breathe. “Niijima-san?”

“Remember,” her shadow repeats, softer.

And she does. She remembers helping in the kitchen as dad told them about his day, about the people he helped, about why it was important to help people. And maybe she was just old enough to be a little exasperated with his poorly disguised lectures, giggling when Sae glanced over and rolled her eyes, but it was always accompanied by a fond smile from each of them. “We both wanted to make him proud, didn’t we,” she hears herself say.

“We did.” There’s something like pity in her shadow’s voice. “But what you think of as justice is based on a dead man’s fantasy.”

Before she realizes it, Makoto’s already hauling her other self up, fists clenched in her own shirt. “Shut up!”

“It’s the stuff of children’s shows. It doesn’t exist in the real world,” her shadow continues. “Sis grew up. Isn’t it time for you to do the same?”

“Shut up!”

“Grow up. It’s the only thing you can do,” she says, almost sweet, entirely vicious. “I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’m you.”

“Shut _up!”_ And she shouldn’t say it, she knows she shouldn’t say it, but this isn’t her, this _can’t_ be her, otherwise she’ll end up just like— just like— “You’re not me!”

Well, shit.

Thankfully, it seems like the others have experience with this sort of situation. They pull her back as her shadow starts to laugh, transforming into what looks like a robot; one with a vaguely humanoid form, lines of code scrolling down its helmet-like face. It already looks pretty battered if she’s being honest— one of its arms hangs only by a couple of wires— so maybe it won’t be too hard to take down. Should she be… relieved? Or insulted? Maybe worried.

Just as she’s contemplating the fragile appearance of her shadow (and what implications that has for her psyche), it aims a kick towards Sakamoto-kun, who jumps out of the way with a yelp. Good thing, too— the pavement fractures where the kick lands.

“What the eff!?” Sakamoto-kun exclaimes, voice cracking towards the end. “Why me?!”

“Violation of school rules,” the robot chirps, speaking in the same saccharine tone as her shadow did. “Students are not allowed to use hair dye.”

“Since _when—_ ”

“That rule was actually taken out of the student handbook a few years ago. Technically speaking, anything that could conceivably be a natural hair color is allowed,” Makoto says, the explanation coming out before she realizes the absurdity of such priorities.

“Well, tell that to her!”

Ann eyes the robot with no little skepticism. “I don’t think she’s in the mood to listen.” She’s immediately proven right when it launches a— a _missile!?_

After the dust settles, Makoto looks towards Kurusu-kun. He’s the leader, isn’t he? “What’s the plan?”

Kurusu-kun thinks for a moment. “We’ll distract her.”

“ _That’s_ the plan?” Makoto asks, appalled. “Shouldn’t we— I don’t know, try and think this through?”

“That’s why we’re distracting her.” He gives her a grin that seems awfully confident despite their current situation. “Gives you time to think.”

And before Makoto can offer any further protest, he’s off and in the fray.

If only they had a little more time to prepare. Then, maybe she could’ve brought something. Anything. A self-help book. A licensed psychologist. But she’ll just have to make do with what she has.

With a little distance and a lack of goading, Makoto has the space to consider just what elicited such a strong reaction from her.

It’s not entirely about growing up, per se. Everyone becomes an adult eventually, and while she isn’t as certain about her future as she’d like to be, she’s not… viscerally against going to university. So rather than the physical passage of time, it must have more to do with the implications of adulthood. And the implications of adulthood…

Going by what her shadow says— well. She probably can’t make too much progress without addressing the root of these ideas. Going by what her sister says, concepts like justice and righteousness don’t have a place past a certain level of maturity. But, that can’t be. The world can’t be so cruel, can it? Even if, somehow, her sister lost sight of even the possibility of justice within the system…

… Is that what’s happening with her?

Maybe not yet— not entirely— but despite her own misgivings about how the school handled Kamoshida, she still let herself get roped into some farce of an investigation.

Did she… ever truly believe the Phantom Thieves were wrong to expose Kamoshida? Madarame?

Of course not. How could she? Sure, it was important to discern their true motives, make sure they weren’t using vigilante justice as a cover for some darker agenda, but with so many suffering under abuse, anything that exposes the situation and allows people to seek help is something that should be pursued.

Then… did she really spend so long just… doing what she was told?

Ignoring what she thought was right?

“Hey!” Makoto shouts. She sprints forward into the chaos, ignoring shouts of concern as she zeroes in on her other self. She reels back her fist. And decks herself in the face.

The other her— who reverts back to her original form somewhere in the middle of all the confusion— cradles her own cheek, where a bruise should’ve been forming.

“You’re me,” Makoto admits, panting, “but I’m going to change.”

“Good luck,” her shadow self says. And maybe that’s a note of approval in her voice.

_I am thou, thou art I…_

Makoto takes a deep breath, shaking out her wrist. It’s pretty lucky she didn’t break it from that stunt. Or, maybe not luck; who knows how anything works in the metaverse. She can feel a rush, the weight that Johanna’s freed from her mind, but with it comes a wave of exhaustion. She stumbles, but Takamaki-san moves forward and manages to steady her.

“Sorry...” As hard as Makoto tries, she can’t stop herself from leaning heavily against Takamaki-san. “I was hoping to be someone you could rely on, but it looks like I had to rely on you.” Again.

“That’s fine.” Kurusu-kun holds up a hand for a high-five, which seems incongruently casual, considering the situation. There’s an odd weight of significance in completing the gesture. Then again, it’s been a long time since she last high-fived anyone, so maybe that’s part of it.

“Maybe it’s dumb tryin’ to stop it from happening,” Sakamoto-kun says, an obvious attempt at reassurance. “Never worked before. And hey, it’s good for like… catharsis, right?”

“Skull might have a point.” A small figure by their feet nods, and that must be… Morgana…?

“Either way, you were really cool!” Takamaki-san says, an enthusiastic grin on her face.

“Thanks.” Makoto offers a grin of her own. As tired as she is, it must pale in comparison, and yet… she does feel a certain amount of satisfaction. This was the start of something. A good first step to figuring out what the right thing is, and how to do it. She’s not going to let anyone else decide for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at some point I need to make a chart about how the p5 crew addresses each other pre/post joining. just kinda. guessed on the honorifics. I'll do that someday or w/e
> 
> the "perspective construct" bit is a quote from the game which... apparently isn't a very google-able term without anything more specific. so if you try and search it up, then get disappointed by not being able to study up on whatever the heck she's talking about. It's Atlus' Fault


	5. Necronomicon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter definitely did not take two (2) months to write but I kind of dragged my feet with it lmao. thanks for the once-over liz! & I can guarantee next chapter definitely won't take as long

Waking up, for the first time in a while, feels pretty great. Well, not the first few seconds, but after getting past the initial _ugh being conscious no thanks,_ a month-long nap is super refreshing. There’s this absence of... weight, maybe? And it’s weird, because after being crushed with... guilt… despair… fear… all those fun feelings... it became another fact of life: the sky is blue, the grass is green, she’s alive while her mother is dead and it’s all her fault. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t so simple.

The weight, it’s not all gone. Would be nice if it was. But it doesn’t feel so overwhelming, thanks to the Phantom Thieves, and also? Kind of? Herself?

“So!” Futaba starts, chilling out in Akira’s room with everyone, driven by a zest for life and knowledge. “What were your shadows like?”

The atmosphere kind of gets. Tense. Sounds from the cafe drift up through the floorboards; faint clinks of cutlery, muffled conversation. There’s a lot of ambient noise and none the friendly chit-chat they were all just having, uh, hm, what’s that about.

“Asking about shadows is… kind of personal,” Makoto explains.

“Is it?” Doesn’t feel too personal to Futaba considering everyone got a front row seat to her shadow stuff. Plus, “Mine just told me to kick butt.”

“Wait, for real?” Ryuji kind of doesn’t _have_ eyebrows, but where they would be is definitely raised. “All we saw was your shadow showing up, disappearing, then like, launching out of you? Turning into a UFO?”

“You didn’t hear any of it? She was all, you were used! Get mad! It was actually really cool!”

“Interesting,” Makoto says, highkey going into study-mode. As expected from the student council president! “Shadows seem to form from parts of the suppressed self rejected by the host, but in your case, the suppressed self was…”

There’s no way to casually talk about the whole. Being extremely messed up over the mom situation thing. Which is something Makoto seems to realize mid-sentence. She clears her throat.

“It’s almost like the shadow and the self were in reverse. At least, compared to my own experience,” Makoto says, very obviously steering the conversation away from that specific dicey territory. “I’m not sure how it was for everyone else.”

“Must we talk about this,” Yusuke deadpans.

“What,” Futaba says, shooting for a bit of levity, “was yours super embarrassing?”  
  
But after saying that, everyone looks way more awkward, so Operation: Make This Not A Big Deal is a total flop. She can practically feel everyone’s affection points hit rock bottom. The first group of friends (?) she’s had in years and she’s already messed up.  
  
Then Ann reaches out a hand for Futaba to hold, and, maybe she didn’t mess up _too_ much. “Our shadows were more... against us, but not really?” Ann starts. “It’s kind of hard to explain. They’re the parts of us we didn’t want to acknowledge. But the part we didn’t want to acknowledge was a part that wanted to help us, in a way...”

So, a part she didn’t want to acknowledge? Check. After all, considering the possibility that maybe she _wasn’t_ responsible for her mother’s death felt like running away, dodging punishment she deserved— of course she couldn’t let herself go there (until she was hearing it from herself).

And, that part wanting to help?

Oh yeah, check.

But Makoto makes a face, so it kind of feels like she’s missing something major. “Honestly, it’s all just... it’s mortifying.”

Then, Ann shakes her head? “You were really cool, though!”

“I think it’d be more accurate to say that I lost my cool.” Makoto pinches the bridge of her nose. “I knew going in that I was supposed to accept an unpalatable part of myself, but even with that preparation, I still let myself get baited. Plus, she was… really annoying.”

“Annoying?” Futaba asks.

“She... wasn’t someone I wanted to be. She was condescending and unsympathetic. Plus, she wouldn’t stop talking about thoughts I didn’t want anyone to know, or even acknowledge myself.”

“Probably didn’t help that you had to go through that in front of everyone,” Ryuji offers. “I’m with Ann, though. You got to punch yours out! That’s hardcore! Mine just kicked my ass.”

Mona bats at Ryuji, tail swishing in agitation. “Give yourself more credit.” Then, to everyone else, “He accepted himself to protect us.”

“That sounds like you,” Ann says, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. Ryuji just kind of waves it off, so, kind of hard to tell how much it sticks. Judging from how some of the others glance at each other, he’s gonna get an earful later. But for now, Ann continues with, “Mine just wouldn’t stop crying. I still don’t really know how I feel about her. Or, about me? She needed help. I hated her for that. But now I know tearing her down wasn’t the right thing to, I had to be... kind to her. To myself. it’s complicated.”

“It looked really tough on you,” Ryuji says. “This might be a weird thing to say but honestly? It was like, a powerful moment, y’know?”

Ann lets out a laugh. “Thanks, I guess?” 

Throughout the conversation Yusuke’s just been moodily munching on some chips. Apparently he picks up on Futaba’s attention because he just says, “I’d rather not dwell on it.” Then, elegantly, he just goes ham on those chips, devouring them with single-minded abandon. So that’s a touchy subject!

“Hey,” Ann says. “What’s with the face?”

“It’s just a face!” Futaba shoots back. “I dunno! I guess I’m just… thinking…”

“Well, if you keep it bottled up, it might turn into a shadow,” Ryuji… jokes? Warns? Jokingly warns?

“Can that happen!?”

Everyone turns to Morgana. “I can’t say for sure, but it’s possible,” he says, and yikes! Yikes! “It would probably have to be something pretty major.”

“It’s not! Definitely not a big deal, I’m just thinking… you guys had to go through all that to get a persona?”

“Akira started out with one,” Morgana cuts in, which figures— dude’s got huge protag energy. “I still can’t really remember how I got mine, but I must have. I’m pretty sure. If I didn’t, I’d probably have more than one persona too, right?”

“You’d probably know more than us,” Ryuji points out.

So, one exception, and one case of amnesia. That’s two out of seven without a “traditional” shadow; three, including Futaba. Which is almost half the group. 

But still, compared to the others...

“It just kind of feels like I got mine handed to me…”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ryuji says. “Dude, ours took like, five minutes— you’ve been in the middle of getting one for years.”

“Huh,” Morgana says. “Very insightful of you, Ryuji.”

“It’s not a compliment when you sound that surprised.”

“You’ve been working hard,” Akira says, cutting between them before they get too into it. And it’s kind of weird to have someone say that considering the last few years felt like doing a whole lot of nothing. But maybe… it wasn’t just nothing, not if she ended up here.

She’ll have to think on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always really enjoyed like... the framing of futaba's shadow and how it basically confirms all the p4 theories that Maybe The Persona Is Your Shadow. it was also really interesting to see a unique shadow that stood out from both traditional p5 & p4 shadows. The Implications... The Speculation...


	6. Milady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did I say! definitely not long. because, if I remember right, I finished this chapter before futaba's. heavy inspo from utena, actually.
> 
> driven by zest for life I coded in hanakotoba flower meanings - on desktop you can hover your cursor over the asterisk, on mobile you can tap the asterisk (tho fair warning it jumps so the tapped text is at the top of your screen). or, you can just scroll down to the end notes.
> 
> thanks liz for the once-over, and thanks april and helios for being Haru Scholars.
> 
> edit: [art!!!!](https://twitter.com/kittanzero/status/1178133501004177408?s=21)

Haru clutches a poster.

It’s one that had been handed to her by a blond second year looking for a missing cat which— according to him— ran off because of a ‘dumb identity crisis,’ no further explanation given. Quite strange, but he seemed genuinely distressed, so of course she accepted the poster and promised to keep an eye out.

The picture of the cat is an illustration, not a photo, but one detailed enough that it most certainly matches the cat she followed down an ally, over a fence, down an empty street, and somehow, into a cold metal facility.

When she blinks, dark petals blur the edge of her sight, brushing against her cheek. It’s difficult to concentrate.

The cat.

She should find the cat.

Robots whir around the facility, large, unwieldy, at some strange nexus between antiquated and advanced; the aesthetics are clunky, as though taken from some nostalgic children’s cartoon, but robots are inherently tools of the future.

None of them pay her any mind. She should be… surprised. She should be confused. She should be alarmed. _She should be angry._ But it’s as if she’s sleepwalking, unable to muster any reaction whatsoever.

She’s looking for a cat.

She wanders the halls, past identical gleaming metal doors... until she reaches one with blades of grass bursting out desperately towards her, victim to a blunt guillotine. The poster in her hand crumples.

She’s looking… for…

Past the door lies another world. A clear blue sky stretches overhead. Brilliant vervain blossoms surround her, the sea of purple interrupted every so often by bright orange lilies (which shouldn’t make sense; verbenas grow in much drier soil than lilies).

In the middle of the field of flowers rests a glass coffin. In that coffin, on a bed of black lilies, lies Haru.

The Haru in the coffin looks beautiful in a way Haru knows she has never been, will never be. It’s impossible to have such perfect, flawless skin, as smooth as the surface of a porcelain doll; the blush upon her cheeks looks delicately painted. She wears a dress Haru has never seen before, a voluminous lavender gown that belongs in a fairy tale. As she stares, a bud unfurls. Stems and leaves climb up the side of the coffin walls at a steady pace.

Hopefully the Haru in the coffin isn’t alive, or at least, isn’t human enough to need air. Black lilies smell, frankly speaking, like shit.

Alive or not, human or not, Haru opens her eyes. A piercing yellow. Flowers burst open, engulfing her in a halo of dark petals.

Let me out, she mouths; Haru knows because her own lips part to shape the same words.

Haru raises a fist and slams it down onto the coffin. No cracks form. It doesn’t even leave a smudge. She slams her fist down again and again with increasing desperation she does not feel.

Time passes.

And then, a cat appears. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is what the cat brings: a sword. Haru grabs it out of its sheath, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. She raises it, both hands clutching the hilt, and brings it down upon herself as she’s being consumed by writhing roots.

Impossibly, the sword pierces cleanly through the glass, stopping just above her own heart. Hairline fractures cascade throughout the coffin before it shatters. The cat cries out in alarm as several shards fly outwards. Blood drips down Haru’s cheek. 

Haru sits up from the coffin. She turns to Haru. The cat speaks with urgency, but it sounds so distant, incomprehensible; all Haru can focus on is the overwhelming need to reach out to herself.

 

* * *

 

Haru wakes up. The sky is a violent blue.

“Are you alright!?”

It’s… the cat from the poster. Talking to her. Or, is it the cat from the poster? It’s rather bipedal for a cat, and much more articulate than expected.

Haru opens her mouth to say she’s fine. This is made significantly more difficult when she pitches forward, coughing up bile, the stench of black lilies buried at the back of her throat. She leans heavily against the door, manufactured metal standing alone in a sea of plants, waiting for the world to right itself. This only seems to add to the cat’s concerns.

“I,” she starts. “I’m _sick of this._ ”

“...Huh?”

She tries to say: I’m fine.

She says: “I’m _not a mindless doll._ ” And it’s— it’s so— _freeing,_ to speak with unfiltered emotion, something long forgotten to her; she’s never heard herself so vicious.

The cat stares at her. When she glances at the door, the metal reflects impressions of colors, much too distorted to catch anything concrete, but, just for a moment, it almost looks like her eyes are...

Haru lets out a weak laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not quite myself.” No, that’s not right. “I’d quite like this to be myself,” she amends. She’s not making much sense. She can’t bring herself to care.

There’s a moment where the cat— Morgana, the poster said his name is Morgana— looks like he’s about to say something, but seems to decide against it. Instead, he asks, “Can I have my sword back…?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” And then she remembers, “You’re missing.”

“What?”

She unfolds the poster, smoothing out its creases as best she can. “That’s why I followed you. People want you to come home.”

“That’s not my home,” Morgana says, turning away. “Wherever I’m from, whatever I am, I don’t… belong out there with them.”

It seems to be a delicate situation, one that’s obviously causing him quite a lot of turmoil. Questions of identity are hard enough to tackle as a human surrounded by other humans; having an inhuman form must add dimensions that further complicate the endeavor. Still, she can’t help but say, “From what I saw, people really care for you. _You’re just going to throw that away?_ ”

Haru blinks. She presses the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“...We’ll talk later.” Morgana says. “First, let’s get you out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Later, she will know more about this strange world and the logistics of a changed heart. She’ll learn about shadows and personae. She’ll meet the Phantom Thieves. Her shadow, her self, will burst forth, a beautiful betrayal against everything her father tried to mold her into. Quite a different experience from the majority of the group, apparently.

She’ll wonder what it would’ve been like to have people see her at her worst, most unpalatable self, and welcome her anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vervain - cooperation  
> orange lilies - hatred, revenge  
> black lily (in eng, kamchatka lily) - love, curse
> 
> AND... IT'S DONE... it's always a relief to finish fic I hate having something incomplete. 
> 
> there's definitely room to explore akechi's deal, protag's deal, & morgana's deal (esp since morgana's deal shifted a bit in here) but I don't really feel like going into it lol. this chapter was definitely a departure from my usual style (and the style of the rest of the fic) but it just Felt Right To Me. thanks for reading, hope yall enjoyed!


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